George Perry - The willing wife

"See? You've got me so excited I can't think straight," Jan sighed.

"But I shot my load," he sighed. "I can't satisfy you now!"

"You will in a few minutes," she purred. "You'll be all charged up before you know it. And you'll satisfy my needs like never before. Mmmmm… but in the meantime, get between my legs and touch me down there."

He moved swiftly to comply with her request.

Then, slowly, careful not to hurt her in any way, be reached out and placed his hand softly over the triangle of hair that intrigued him so. When her hips rose off the bed to meet his touch, he became bolder, combing his fingers through the forest of hair to see what jewel was hidden there.

His eyes became glued to the soft, moist, pink lips that answered the question for him. At the same time he was filled with uncertainty about what he should do to entertain her. But as she lifted her knees back to her chest, his eyes feasted on the other opening he craved to touch. He slid his finger down to the little bud, circled it and tapped on it just as she had done to him.

"Mmmmm…" she cooed.

His finger lingered at the opening, desperately wanting to poke its way into the heat of it, but held back by an impulse from his swimming, foggy head. Lick it, you fool! his brain shouted, and he lowered his head toward her crotch.

At the touch of his wet tongue on the hot bud of her asshole, Jan felt a flame lick up through her body like a bolt of lightning. She felt the tip of his tongue swirl around the entrance, then flatten suddenly and lick a path from there up to the panting lips of her cunt. Again he lapped at the sensitive skin from her asshole to her cuntal lips. She had to brace herself for the flood that was about to break loose from the well of her cunt, trying at the same time to contain it. But another pass of that hot slab of wet tongue told her she couldn't take another pass without coming. She reached down and held his head between her legs, locked over her panting cunt.

"Oh Al!" she gasped when he opened his mouth over her pussy and sucked the breath from her. "Tongue it… tongue it!" she cried, but he sucked instead.

Her panting, screeching, lustful moans suddenly made Al feel like a giant among men. He drove his tongue into the panting, sucking depth of her cunt, snaking and whipping it wildly around the dew-lined walls, making a meal of the nectar his tongue brought forth.

"More… more… I can't stand it…" she cried over and over, holding his head firmly locked at her cunt, wishing she could swallow his whole head and more. "Oh Al… twist it around in there… yeah… yeah… further in… more, Al… more! You're the greatest… the best… the wildcat tongue in the world!"

Even with her thighs pressed tightly against his ears, he could hear her pleas and they fanned a new spark between his own lop. The thrill of feeling strength and power seeping back into his cock washed the old world from his mind and replaced it with a new world of intoxicating colors, tastes and smells. A world made of soft, smooth flesh, with pink tunnels and forests of silky soft hair.

"Whip it around… oh… oh… OH! Give me that juicy tongue of yours…" Then she lost count of the orgasms that rolled on and on, one after another. "Oooowwww," she cried, when his tongue finally escaped her clutching trap, then, "Ahhhhh…" when his body suddenly covered hers and his cock filled the vacancy left by his tongue.

"Ohhhh yes," she cooed.

There wasn't a trace of fear in Al's mind now. His cock flexed with strength, but he had complete control of the situation now. No chance of a misfire this time, he told himself confidently, driving his cock in and out of her to prove his new-found control.

"Next time," he grunted between breaths, "I'm gonna give it to you… Al's way… up the ass!"

Jan went into a frenzy of gyrations at that thought, feeling the agony of it already.

"Too big," she groaned. "It's too, too big!"

Both felt the big splash of their juices meeting in perfect timing. For Al, the moment was even better than he had dreamed it would be.

Charles waited nervously for the next phone call and his new instructions. The pressure of having the two F.B.I. agents at his side unnerved him. The thought that everything he said on the phone would be monitored, made it almost unbearable. He was chain-smoking now and even making trips to the liquor cabinet for whatever courage it was that alcohol gave a person. Other than an occasional highball, he never drank anything hard and the taste of straight whiskey came as a shock to his system. And just getting it down gave him courage.

Then shortly before the call came, he made what he considered a big decision. There was no sense pretending his scheme would work, he told himself. The best, the safest course was to put the whole idea out of his head and do what he was pretending to do be – a loyal husband – and get Jan back safe and sound.

The phone rang just as the living room clock finished the eighth chime. The two agents added to the charged atmosphere now as they all jumped at the sound of the phone.

"Hello," Charles said, calmer than the last time. "Do you have the money?" the man's voice asked.

"Yes."

"Do exactly as I say and don't talk. Go directly to your car. Drive north on Route Seven until you reach a gas station called 'Pringles' on the right… it's about a two-hour drive. Go to the phone booth there and wait for instructions. The place will be closed, so don't try to bring the police. Just be there by ten… alone… with the money."

There was a loud "click" and Charles looked at the agents for help. He felt weak all over and one of them had to take the receiver from his hand to replace it an the cradle.

"Okay," Jim, the older of the two said. "Get yourself together now, Mr. Latimer. Do exactly as he said. We'll have to stay out of sight, just in case they've got spotters. But you take this two-way radio and stay in contact with us as we planned. I'll contact you, first when we're all on Route Seven and fill you in on what's happening."

Charles took the radio and the suitcase with the money and dashed out of the house, while the agents made another call.

As he drove north an Route Seven the agents explained over the radio that the station was being checked out by other agents, who were rushing to the scene from a town nearby. They assured him, however, that no one would be able to tell they were on the case.

A few minutes before ten o'clock Charles pulled into the dark, lonely gas station and went to the phone booth. The call came right on time.

"Mr. Latimer?"

"Drive north now until you hit Route Twenty-eight, the Mohawk Trail… turn east and you'll find another station called 'Phil's'. We'll call you there."

"Listen!" he blurted out. "I couldn't help it… the F.B.I. is in on this."

"We expected that… just do as you're told. Be at Phil's by two. And tell those agents we'll kill your wife if we see any of them near our check points."

When Charles returned to the car he called in to report his new instructions to the trailing agents, leaving out the part about his telling of their presence in the case. He had done it on the spur of the moment, he rationalized now. Besides, they already knew, he told himself.

He had been on the Mohawk Trail before, he remembered. It was when they were on vacation. And it was a narrow, winding scenic road. Beautiful during the day, but he imagined it would be terribly lonely and desolate at night. He was suddenly grateful that he had the two-way radio and the agents were close enough to help him if the car broke down or something went wrong.

Jan was having tea in the kitchen with the old woman when her husband returned. He looked dejected, she noticed.

"Well, Ma," he said with a sigh. "I guess we'd better call it all off."